The Wardens and the Apostates
by LiveFastDieBeautiful21
Summary: Sequel to "The Hero and the Champion." Carver and Alistair embark on a diligent search for the Warden-Commander and Champion, who've fled Kirkwall for their lives. They manage to get help from some friends-both old and new. But, just as Hawke thinks they're all finally safe, Fenris learns that his freedom came at a terrible and deadly price.


**A/N: **Welcome to the sequel of "The Hero and the Champion"! If you haven't already, feel free to go check the first one out; it's fairly short, as stories go.

I don't have a set schedule for when I'm going to release these chapters, but hopefully it won't be more than a week or so between updates.

Enjoy! And pretty please leave a review with your thoughts and comments!

* * *

Carver Hawks strode confidently through the door, ignoring the curious eyes that followed him as he entered the dining hall. The smells of freshly baked bread, rich, hearty meat, and strong ale wafted around him, but he was focused only on the man at the back of the room, juggling two plates piled high with food to keep them out of reach from an eager Mabari.

"No! Down, girl. You aren't even supposed to be in here!"

Hiding his amusement, Carver grabbed Lily's collar and pulled her away from Alistair. "If you didn't insist on giving her a little treat every time she asked, maybe you'd be able to keep her out of here," he suggested lightly.

"You know I can't do that," Alistair chuckled, setting the plates down. "Olivia would be furious if I didn't take care of Lily. And have you seen her eyes? When she wants something, her eyes get huge and sad, and you can't say no."

Carver raised an eyebrow and took his seat across from Alistair. "Who? Olivia or the dog?"

"Both," he grinned. "So," he continued casually, pausing to take a few quick bites, "the life of a Warden seems to have done you some good."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Carver crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair and eyeing the senior Warden carefully.

Alistair shrugged. "You just seem more… comfortable," he mumbled through a mouthful of food.

"Maybe." Carver couldn't deny that the constant training and patrols had been a welcome relief from his duties as a templar guard. Never in his life had his shoulders and back ached so badly, but he couldn't remember a time when he'd felt so relaxed, either.

Or hungry.

Pushing away from the table, Carver excused himself to get some food for himself. He pretended not to notice the stares of the other Wardens; apparently, it wasn't often that Alistair spent so much time with a new recruit. Carver knew it was just because of his sister—which irked him—but the upcoming trip to Antiva was something Alistair had wanted to keep secret.

When he returned to his seat with two plates of his own, he found his place occupied by one of the other Wardens. It took him a moment, but he finally recognized the man as Nathaniel Howe. Ordinarily, Carver would've just demanded that he moved, but Nathaniel was one of Alistair and Olivia's closest friends, and a high ranking Warden.

"Oh!" Alistair looked up at Carver as he approached, then motioned between him and Nathaniel. "This is Carver. Carver, this is Nathaniel Howe. I'm sure you've heard of him?"

Nathaniel's grey eyes inspected Carver in a way that made him impulsively straighten his posture, a reminder of his days in the King's army. He nodded, then turned back to Alistair. "As I was saying, I think you should reconsider."

From behind Nathaniel, Carver gritted his teeth in frustration.

"But," he continued, "at the very least, take a healer." With that, he pushed the chair back abruptly, nearly ramming it into Carver, and left the dining hall.

Grumbling a few choice words under his breath, Carver took his seat and dug in, shoveling food in his mouth so quickly he hardly had time to breathe. As he finished his first plate, he looked up at Alistair through narrowed eyes. "He knows, doesn't he?"

"Well, Olivia left him in charge," Alistair shrugged. "So, yes. He knows."

"Are we really taking a healer?"

Running his hands through his hair, Alistair sighed heavily. "I don't know," he admitted. "I've already asked Wynne, but she said no. There isn't really another mage I'd trust with something like this."

"I know a mage we can trust." Carver blinked in surprise, the words having come out before he realized what he was saying.

"Not Anders?" he guessed.

Carver snorted. "Definitely not Anders. But… we _would_ have to go to Kirkwall."

Alistair took another bite and motioned for Carver to continue.

"Well, she isn't really a healer," he admitted, feeing clumsy as he searched for words. "She's a mage, though, and she can be trusted. I think. I haven't spoken to her in… Maker, it's been almost two years."

"Oh, I see." Alistair grinned knowingly, causing a blush to rise to the young Warden's cheeks.

"You asked for a mage and I found you one," Carver grunted, staring down at his food. "If you don't want to take Merrill, that's fine." He poked at his food angrily, scowling to hide his embarrassment and resisting the urge to stomp out of the hall.

_What in the Maker's name have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

"Cullen?"

"That's _Knight-Comm_—Oh! Sorry," Cullen apologized as he turned towards his visitors. "I didn't realize it was you, Alistair." With a brief nod, he curtly acknowledged Carver.

The young Warden tried not to fidget; he felt odd and uncomfortable in his grey and blue Warden armor, here amongst the familiar templars of the Gallows. Still, he couldn't keep a smug little smile from creeping up as Cullen eyed him.

"I'd supposed you'd fled with your sister."

Stepping between the two men, Alistair offered a diplomatic smile. "I hope you don't mind that I've taken Carver," he apologized. "But we're actually here on… not Grey Warden business."

Cullen took a deep breath and ran a gloved hand through his hair. "It's about the Warden-Commander and the Champion, isn't it?" he guessed. His eyes darted around the Gallows, then he ushered the Wardens into his office.

"Do you have any information?"

"No, I'm afraid not." Cullen looked up at Alistair for a moment before running his eyes over the stacks of paper on his desk. "What she did—what they _both_ did—was wrong. But the city would be far worse if they hadn't… taken care of Meredith. We won't be searching for them. Not purposefully, at least; if they happen to cross our path…" he trailed off, glancing back up at the other men, who nodded at the implication.

"I don't know if it helps," Alistair shrugged, "but Olivia wasn't involved with the Chantry explosion."

Sighing, the Knight-Commander slowly sat in his chair, his face marred with exhaustion. "Nobody knows for sure. In Ferelden, she might be the Hero, but here in the Free Marches, she's just an apostate." He grimaced, as if the words pained him to say.

Crossing his arms, Carver glared down at Cullen. "And what happens to apostates, now that you've lost the Circle?"

He threw up his hands in frustration. "Nothing! That damned blood mage, Alain, calls himself the First Enchanter, now. Your sister saved him," Cullen seethed, pointing an accusatory finger at Carver, "and now he throws orders at templars." All at once, the Commander seemed to deflate. "It could be worse, I suppose," he admitted. "Alain's at least willing to talk and negotiate; he lets us bring apostates to the Circle. But if a single hair on any mage's head is harmed, we risk an errant fireball _accidently _finding itself in our training grounds."

Carver turned to Alistair. "We should go check for Merrill."

"Merrill?" Cullen echoed. "The little Dalish girl? She disappeared after the… After Meredith. As far as I know, she's not with the Circle."

"Thank you, Cullen." Alistair gave Carver a pointed glare that clearly said _Don't say anything else._ With a little nod, he turned to leave.

Shoulders drooping, Carver followed Alistair. "Where are we going, now?" he asked, vaguely aware that he sounded like a whining child. "How are we supposed to find Merrill?"

"I don't know," the senior Warden admitted, "but I at least know where to start." His voice hardened and he added, "You know, you're lucky that Cullen's the new Commander. Just because you aren't a templar anymore doesn't mean you can be disrespectful."

Carver rolled his eyes and continued walking in silence. Ever since they'd left Vigil's Keep, Alistair had grown more and more strict; for the first time, it actually felt like he was Carver's commanding officer. He didn't like it.

It wasn't long before they'd arrived at a familiar building. "The Hanged Man? You're idea of searching for Merrill is to get drinks?" While Carver couldn't deny that an ale sounded really good at that point, he was itching to find Merrill.

"No." Alistair led the way into the tavern, clearly searching for someone. "Olivia told me all sorts of stories about Kirkwall. Most of them involved a very knowledgeable dwarf."

Carver nodded in sudden understanding. "Come on," he sighed, motioning for Alistair to follow. "He'll be back in his suite." He didn't even bother to knock; Carver simply barged in, calling Varric's name as the door swung open.

"Junior!" Varric greeted him. "Junior and company," he amended.

He began to explain, but Alistair shouldered past him. "We're looking for any information you might have on a Dalish apostate named Merrill."

The dwarf crossed his arms, smirking knowingly at Carver. "Don't worry, I took care of her."

He bristled at both Alistair's interruption and Varric's gaze. "Just tell us where she is. We need her for official Grey Warden business."

Varric nodded slowly, then motioned to the open book in front of him. "See this? It's a rather epic story I'm working on. Tells all about Hawke's adventures. The real ones, not the shit I tell in the evenings."

"Merrill," Carver glowered.

"I'm getting there. Calm down, Junior." Varric motioned for the Wardens to sit. Alistair took a seat near the door, but Carver remained still. "I started writing this because my favorite Dalish apostate came into The Hanged Man a couple days after the whole… fight. She wanted to know where Rivaini had gone, and I told her she'd sailed away. That's when Daisy suggested I write a collection of our stories, so we'll remember what really happened." He looked down, his eyes sorrowful. "It really hit her hard, Junior. Everyone's gone but me and Aveline, and Daisy has nowhere to go."

Carver's anger had faded, replaced by a pang of unexpected sadness. "Where is she now?" he asked softly.

"I sent her the only place I figured was safe. The Hawke estate."

"The…what?" He raised an eyebrow. "And the templars aren't searching every corner of the estate?"

Varric shook his head and admitted, "At first, there were more templars there than in the Gallows. After about a week, they left. That's when I sent Daisy. I've been keeping her out of sight. I send food and other supplies to the estate sometimes. She's safe. I promise."

There were very few times when Varric's words were sincere, but Carver suspected this was one of them. Turning to Alistair, he urged, "Let's go. I don't want to take any longer than we have to."

The Warden settled into his chair, eyeing Carver thoughtfully. "Why don't _you_ go, and I'll stay here," he suggested.

Carver did his best not to look too excited; he bobbed his head up and down in a quick nod, then set off for Hightown.


End file.
